


The Tale of the Hero

by stitchdragon



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, Post-Canon, Speculation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 09:16:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7751938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stitchdragon/pseuds/stitchdragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The defeat of Corypheus left a slew of unresolved conflicts and unanswered questions in its wake. While some have earned the right to rest, others soldier on, rebuilding or researching or just trying to live. Viscount Tethras thought his days of adventure were behind him, nothing more than memories that he barely even has time to write about anymore, until a letter from a well-connected old friend finally has him greeting one of the few living legends he hasn't befriended yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tale of the Hero

Varric did his best to ignore most of the letters that arrived at his new office. Many were eventually attended, either because the Seneschal's nagging had become too much to bear or because the pile of paperwork was an excellent excuse to delay meeting with the most annoying nobles in person, but there were a few names that always warranted the Viscount's immediate attention. Divine Victoria was one of them- and not merely because Varric feared how Nightingale would get his attention if he dared to ignore her.

Of course he wondered what Leliana could be writing him about while he broke the ornate wax seal, but of all the possibilities that crossed his mind, none of them came close to the surprise she had in store.

 _My Dear Viscount Tethras_ (began the letter in the delicate hand the dwarf recognized as the Divine's own, despite how many scribes were at her beck and call),

_I have been pleased to hear of the latest progress from Kirkwall. You have been very busy indeed, and under such circumstances I would not normally be asking favors. However, in the service of the greater good and a very dear old friend, I hope you will be able to indulge me._

_I am sure you are aware that once, what feels like a lifetime ago, I traveled alongside the young Gray Warden the world now knows as the Hero of Ferelden. She relinquished her post as Warden Commander some time ago in pursuit of studying the phenomenon known as the Calling, and now her work is leading her to Kirkwall. I promised her a letter of introduction and assured her that you would provide the best hospitality. By the time my letter reaches you she will be well underway, so please give her my regards and wish her luck in her research._

_May the Maker watch over you._

A smile quirked at the Viscount's lips, then a chuckle slipped out. The letter was abandoned on his overly-imposing desk as he called for Bran to prepare the proper welcome for a hero. It was not every day Varric got excited for an official visit, but it was also not every day that he met a living legend- that had only happened twice, and usually he had to go through a lot of weird shit before the legendary part happened.

~~~

The mail must have been moving especially slow, because the Warden arrived only two days later. Seneschal Bran insisted upon receiving her as a guest of state, which meant the Viscount was obligated to sit on the throne he hated while the Warden was shown into the ostentatious chamber and announced by some nondescript page. One blessing of her speedy arrival was that the crowd of nosy nobles was smaller than average. As the heavy doors opened to reveal the day's guest of honor, a murmur went up around the room, but it did not reach the floor where the Hero of Ferelden strode with purpose towards the stairs.

Of course Varric had heard many descriptions of the woman, but exaggerated tales from refugees who had seen her at a distance many years before could hardly be trusted. She was taller than he expected, besting him in the shoulder by an easy inch or more despite being a woman and a fellow dwarf; the shield strapped to her back was dented and scratched, proving that it and the sword sheathed at her waist were not merely for show. Instead of the ubiquitous blue tunic that was the uniform of most Gray Wardens, she had chosen a perfectly ordinary traveling outfit in the style of her home country, though her breastplate was clearly of extraordinary quality under the layer of road dust. Her pale platinum blonde hair had been cut short underneath but allowed to grow wild on top, sweeping forward to cover most of a large scar that marred her scalp all the way down to her left eyebrow. She was definitely a warrior worthy of her rank, and not a person concerned with appearances- everything the legends made her out to be, and then some.

What caught Varric off guard was the brand tattooed prominently on her face. No one had mentioned that she was casteless.

It wasn't that the mark bothered Varric in the way it would some more traditional dwarves. Not only was he a surface dwarf, making him technically casteless himself, but he had never bought into the rigid class system subscribed to by his underground kin. It only came as a surprise that the detail had escaped his notice for so many years. In hindsight it made sense, of course. Not many humans or elves would know the significance of the brand on the woman's face. Even some surface dwarves were so far removed from Orzammar that the tattoo would go unnoticed. As for the kingdom itself, glossing over the fact that the most famous dwarf of the Age was born an untouchable citizen of the underbelly was par for the course. Nothing like Dwarven pride to avoid speaking uncomfortable truths.

If she noticed her host's composure waver, the Warden did not let it show. She did not let much of anything show for that matter; her expression was as stoic as Varric's was carefree, even though she could definitely hear the comments of the onlookers now, several of whom had decided that she was remarkably unkempt for a hero. "Thank you for having me, Viscount Tethras," she said formally, executing a small bow.

"Please, don't bother with the title," he chuckled. "And especially don't bow. I only took this job so I could get shit done in this crazy place." With the ridiculous ceremony accomplished, he was able to stand up from his throne, closing the distance between them and offering a hand. "Welcome to Kirkwall. Varric Tethras, at your service."

The reluctant Viscount's casual greeting finally softened the Warden's stony facade, if only a little. Her full lips went from a stiff line into the slightest curve of a smile. "A pleasure to meet you. I am Natia Brosca."

"The pleasure is all mine. Please, let's discuss your business in my office where we can have a little privacy." It was tempting to throw a rude gesture towards their audience, but Varric instead swept his hand towards the chamber's door to invite the Warden to walk with him. Other women of rank might have expected him to offer an arm for escort, but Natia did not seem like the type. When she fell into step beside him with her thumbs hooked casually into her sword belt, he knew he had read her well.

After exiting the grand chamber, Varric continued forward down the broad steps, his eyes on the front door of the keep. Natia kept her stride but glanced over inquisitively. "Your Seneschal told me that your office was in the far wing. Why are we going for the door?"

"That's my office as Viscount, sure," Varric replied with a grin. "If you were some stuffy diplomat who needed impressing, I'd take you there. But I'm hoping that you and I can be friends, so we're going to my personal office instead. Hope you don't mind that it's in Lowtown- a bit of a rough neighborhood, but it's got atmosphere."

"I don't know if you've ever been to Orzammar, but I grew up in Dust Town. I can handle rough." There was no anger in the Warden's voice, nor any change in her posture to show she took offense. Her origin was merely a fact. "Do you still live in this Lowtown neighborhood?"

"Officially, no. But I keep my old room reserved. It's good to have an escape." A voice reached Varric's ears, causing him to flinch. "Speaking of escape, walk faster."

"Oh no you don't!" As if he had read the Viscount's mind, Seneschal Bran dashed through the front hall, putting himself bodily between the dwarves and the door with his arms outstretched- a habitual gesture more than a helpful one, since either of them could have walked right under without ducking. "I beg your pardon, Serah Brosca, but Viscount Tethras has several important meetings before he can leave the Keep. I would try to accommodate him for your sake, but the Duke's appointment regarding his personal dock in the harbor has been rescheduled three times already. He now refuses to leave and his very large pet bird has soiled the carpet. Twice."

Varric's shoulders drooped visibly, but he knew he could not escape this time. "Sorry, I tried," he apologized, his smile halfhearted. "You're welcome to make yourself at home, or even go on ahead of me. The bar is called the Hanged Man, Bran can give you directions. So can anybody else in town for that matter, if you don't want to hear his voice anymore. It grates on the nerves."

The Seneschal ignored the insult with obviously practiced patience, and Natia nodded with the slight shift of her lips that passed for a smile. "I would appreciate directions. I can wait until you've taken the Viscount to his meeting, though."

"I shall return as soon as the Duke has spotted him. There will be no escape from that point." Bran grinned despite himself as Varric trudged off toward his doom- or rather, his office- and honored the Warden with a bow before following.

~~~

Much later than he would have liked, but much sooner than he had feared, Varric strode through the door of the Hanged Man and almost immediately found himself with an ale in hand. He took it and joined Natia at a table that had been given a wide berth- the kind of effect only a seasoned Warden openly wearing a weapon could provide. "Normally I wouldn't send a lady here alone, but I figured you could handle yourself," he said as he settled in.

"Oh, I'm not alone," Natia replied. "Claymore, say hi."

Varric jumped when a heavy weight settled in his lap and looked down to see an enormous Mabari, its once black muzzle now grizzled with age, looking up at him with intelligent brown eyes. The creature had hidden itself beneath the table, almost perfectly concealed in the muddy brown shadows of the bar. The Viscount found himself frozen in place for a moment until Claymore let out a gentle "boof" of greeting. That familiar sound was all it took to make Varric instantly relax, chuckling as he scratched the dog behind its ear until the bright eyes closed in pleasure. "I heard you had a Mabari, but when I didn't see him at the Keep I figured he wasn't with you. Apparently Claymore here is a fellow rogue."

  
Natia hid a sudden smile- a real one, not the bare hint from earlier- behind a well-timed drink of her ale. "Claymore has been uncomfortable in big formal halls since we had a little fiasco at the Landsmeet. He's never far away though. We've been together since Ostagar and that won't be changing. He's the best research assistant I could ask for- he's quiet."

"That's right, Nightingale mentioned you were in the research business these days." Varric set his tankard on the table, leaning forward on his elbows as he shifted into business mode. "So let me ask- why Kirkwall? We've never had a strong Warden presence and I don't know what we have to add to your search. Is there a library you want access to? Because whatever you need, I'll make it happen."

The Warden shifted in her seat, obviously searching for the right words. "Actually, the reason I came to Kirkwall was to speak to you," she admitted, her piercing grey eyes meeting his with sudden determination. "I had started to hit a wall in my research, but then Leliana helped me gain access to the Inquisition's records. Nothing was helping until I began looking into Corypheus' other methods of recruiting and learned about red lyrium. The descriptions of the victims hearing singing were familiar, so I threw myself into finding out more. Everyone and everything pointed me to you."

"I wish I could say they were wrong," Varric sighed grimly. He could see where this conversation was going, so he fortified himself with a swig of his drink. "Why come all the way here, though? I've written everything I have to say in my books."

There was a slight pause before Natia spoke again. "You didn't write about Bianca." When he reached for the crossbow strapped to his back, she shook her head. "Not the weapon. The woman. The one who found out that red lyrium carries the blight. She's quite pretty and very clever, I can see why you get along." There was another pause, as if she were waiting for a comment; Varric had none to offer. "Besides, Leliana says your books are filled with outrageous lies."

"Well, she's not wrong," he chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. "Andraste's knickers, you're thorough. Not that I should have expected less from the Hero of Ferelden."

This caused a reaction in the Warden that Varric was not expecting: she ducked her head, the first show of submissive behavior he had seen in the confident warrior. "You asked me not to call you by your title, so please don't use mine. I've never felt like a hero, I was only in the right place at the right time."

"Take it from me, those are the best kind of heroes!" There was a sudden twinkle in Varric's eyes when Natia looked up again; she could practically see wheels turning in his mind. "Listen, you want to know everything I know about red lyrium, but that's pretty much my least favorite thing to talk about. How about you make it worth my while? Trade stories with me. Tell me the real story about how a casteless girl grew up into a legend, and I will tell you anything I can about red lyrium. No outrageous lies."

The Warden's eyes narrowed slightly. "Are you planning to write a book about me?"

"Not without your permission, of course. But I like stories, and knowing yours is enough. Whaddya say, Warden? Do we have a deal?" Varric offered his hand, and with a nearly grim expression Natia accepted. Her grip was strong in his, her palm calloused by labor and battle. A promise from a woman like her was not to be taken lightly. He had never been so eager to hear a story.

**Author's Note:**

> Still very much a work-in-progress, I planted the seeds of this story by wondering what would happen if my favorite Dragon Age character (that would be Varric) encountered my very first Warden (Natia, of course). Here's hoping I can tell a story worthy of Serah Tethras.
> 
> There may be more tags added as the story grows. For one thing this is my first AO3 submission, so if it obviously needs more tags, let me know. For another the story is only partly planned and even I don't know everything that lies ahead. Bear with me as I learn!


End file.
